Песенка о ночной Москве [Pesenka o nochnoy Moskve] [English translation]

When suddenly there arises the trumpets' voice, still faintly heard,

The words, like nighthawks broad-winged, fall down from the hot lips;

Melody, like a random rain rambles, and conducted by Love itself,

Hope's little orchestra wanders in the people's midst,

In the years of separations, in the years of battles, when lead showers

Rained on our backs without reprieve, lenience not to be expected,

And all commanders voices turned too hoarse, then what led people but

Hope's little orchestra conducted by Love itself.

Clarinet is full of holes, trumpet got dents, bassoon is worn as an old staff,

And seams on drums came apart... Still, the trumpeter is a handsome devil!

The flutist is as graceful as a youthful knight. Forever in cahoot with people,

Hope's little orchestra conducted by Love itself.